


Dorian Pavus: Tevinter Man of Mayhem

by TheRomulanEmbassy



Series: Dorian Pavus: A Man who Cares Deeply About Everything While Denying that He Does [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, F/M, In which Dorian Pavus and Maevaris Tilani and Fenris Form a trio of evil - fighting Tevinters, M/M, and also occasionally get drunk together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:59:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRomulanEmbassy/pseuds/TheRomulanEmbassy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To think he used to tell me that he loved me-he did it so often and so publicly that it caused me immense mortification, such that if my face were not this beautiful, I would not have shown it in public."  Dorian had gestured wildly as he spoke, much to Fenris' silent and equally drunken amusement. </p><p>--------------</p><p>Dorian Pavus, a man hunted by a faceless enemy and a man haunted by the love he only admits to being in when drunk is promoted to the extravagant yet obscenely overt position of Ambassador of the Tevinter Imperium by unknown persons for unknown reasons. </p><p>All he can do is play along, hope not do die in some horrific fashion or another, and avoid the Lord Inquisitor as much as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dorian Pavus and Fenris: Drinking is Better than Talking

**Author's Note:**

> Some things to consider before reading: 
> 
> 1) This is an AU of the actual game ending, consider it an AU of Trespasser if you will.
> 
> 2) This is less canon divergent and more canon tweaking. That is, the events of Trespasser will happen eventually, not necessarily in this fic. 
> 
> 3) Some characters are canon and some are OC (aside from the obvious OC of the Inquisitor).
> 
> Thank you and enjoy! :)

Dorian 's sleep was interrupted by a sudden wash of intense cold on his back. For a split second before he became fully conscious, he thought it might be another nightmare. Bracing himself, he opened his eyes to what would surely be some despair demon ready to claw out his eyeballs or some other equal unpleasantness, but it was only Tilani's scowling face that he saw - which was infinitely more frightening than any denizen of the fade.

"You look like shit, Dorian." She said, bucket in hand.

Dorian felt like shit, too, but he would not admit that to Tilani.

"Why are you always so hard on me but not on him ?" He asked her, gesturing carelessly to the elf passed out cold opposite from him, fully aware that he was being - for lack of better and more dignified description, whiny.

"I have a weakness for him, Dorian. You know that." Tilani spoke with a particularly sugary inflection in her voice, so he was unsure if she were serious or jesting.

"What about our dear Thorold? Does he share your same fondness?" Tilani winked at him before she walked over to the elf, and made to poke him with one of her golden-sandaled foot - but before said golden-sandaled foot could even make contact with his side, his hand shot out and grabbed it. At least he didn't rip it off.

"Fenris, my dear. Will you wake up?"

"Is Pavus still here?"

"I am still here, yes." Fenris groaned, or growled - Dorian could never tell.

He suspected that the elf was not happy about the fact that he had gotten drunk the night before with a Tevinter magister, or that he was in Tevinter. Or that he was in the company of mages.

Dorian, for his part was simply content that the elf was no longer threatening him with violent death whenever he saw him.

Fenris got along with Tilani better than he did with Dorian himself, anyway - something to do with the fact that Dorian's family owns slaves. ..and something to do with the fact that he may have let it slip that he used to think that slavery was better than poverty...

The bruises had taken weeks to heal properly.

It had only been since the night before that the two of them had managed to be civil enough to actually manage to get drunk together.

It had to do with Hawke - Tilani had gotten a communication from her, and Fenris had found it in Tilani's library. Before Dorian could fully grasp what was happening, he had found himself with a bottle of wine in his hand drinking to his and Fenris' misery over past loves.

He drank about Maxwell leaving him to marry a woman, Fenris drank about Hawke leaving him for the apostate who blew up the chantry in Kirkwall - who happened to also be an abomination.

"That is quite a list of amazingly horrible attributes one has to contend with, Fenris." Dorian had said.

"Indeed it is Pavus." The elf had replied, as he passed him the second bottle of the night.

Or had it been the third bottle?

Why did Thorold and Tilani even keep wine in their library?

Dorian had even gone on to embarrass himself by moping about how Maxwell was probably on his way to becoming a father by now, since that was what men and women did when they got married.

"To think he used to tell me that he loved me-he did it so often and so publicly that it caused me immense mortification, such that if my face were not this beautiful, I would not have shown it in public." Dorian had gestured wildly as he spoke, much to Fenris' silent and equally drunken amusement.

"I did not take you for a private person, Pavus."

"Oh but I am! And he used to call me sugar in front of people! I hated that nickname so much, Serrah Fenris. I hated it, but he told me that it was one of the few happy memories that he had of his parents before he went to the chantry. They used to call each other that, Fenris! They called each other sugar - and I'm not a monster, Fenris. I could not deny him what little he had left of his life before the chantry. "

"No, Pavus. You certainly could not." After that shameful rant, he remembered nothing.

"Have you come with a list of people you need me to kill for you?" Fenris asked Tilani, her ankle still in his grasp.

"No, Fenris."

"Oh, then it must be a list of people you want me to charm to our side, then? Or have we finally found out who had the compulsion on me?" Dorian asked, as he attempted to stand up and at the same time not slip in the puddle on the floor.

"No, Dorian. I have a message from the Magistirium." Tilani extracted a folded piece of paper from the folds of her skirt. "It's...signed by Magister Halward Pavus, Dorian. On behalf of the Archon. The actual Archon this time, I had my contacts verify."

Dorian took the letter in his hand, and opened the folds dreading what doom surely awaited inside.

"Letters from Halward never bode well," he said more to himself than to the others, "and neither does this one. Oh, wonderful."

"What is it?" Asked the elf, letting go of Tilani's foot.

"I have been promoted," he said, "to Ambassador of the Tevinter Imperium. My dear father must really want me to get out of Tevinter. "

 


	2. Maxwell Trevelyan and the Tailor

Maxwell Trevelyan entered his quarters in a flurry of irritation and malcontent, startling both his tailor and his ambassador - though the Lady Ambassador was better at concealing her surprise and faster at recovering from it.

"That sour look is not suitable for weddings, Inquisitor."

"Than it's a good thing that this isn't a wedding, Josephine." Maxwell ' s harsh response - harsh because it was directed to the Lady Ambassador, upset the tailor enough to cause him to begin to tremble.

Maxwell suppressed a groan.

"I'm sorry, Josephine. That was rude of me."

"That is quite alright, Inquisitor. But please do tell, what has...upset you?" Maxwell fought the urge to sigh in frustration. He stepped onto the circlely platform watchercallit - as Sera had so aptly named it, during her own fitting.

Maxwell let the tailor work as he regarded his ambassador.

"Bull has made no advances in regards to the elf's location - let alone who was the guide bebehind her actions. There are no names, no leads - nothing. There is nothing."

Josephine looked as disappointed as he felt. The mere idea that months of Bull's efforts had proven futile was unspeakable - it was unthinkable, even.

"Perhaps it is too soon to tell, Inquisitor. The Iron Bull may yet uncover something - but for now, Inquisitor, there are more pressing...festive things to prepare for." Josephine examined the trembling tailor's work,

"Perhaps take up the hem, and more embellishment on the lapels. The Lord Inquisitor must look appropriately grand at his wedding - those are Madame Vivienne 's words not mine, although I must agree with her."

"Josephine really- don't think that I do not know that you are trying to distract me from Dori-" it was at that same instant that the tailor poked Maxwell with his needle.

"Your Worship! I am sorry Inquisitor - truly! I was simply distracted- it's just that - it's, well..." Maxwell suppressed another groan. Nothing would go smoothly today. Nothing at all.

"Well? Spit it out!" The poor tailor turned a shade between a deathly pale white and a sick green.

"If I may your Worship- I would rather not be privy to your personal affairs, sir! And since your return from Tevinter you have been in a considerably foul mood, sir! And it gets even worse when the Lord Pavus' name is mentioned or even implied!"

The room would have fallen into an awkward silence, had it not been for Josephine 's immediate intervention.

"Thank you for your honesty, Sir. You may leave now. You may collect your payment from the quartermaster 's office." The tailor looked immensely relieved to be leaving.

"Well, there goes another faithful servant of the Inquisition."

"He is not entirely at fault, Maxwell. You have been extremely disagreeable since your return from Tevinter, and you do truly react badly to the mention of Dorian's name."

Maxwell did dislike immensely the mention of Dorian's name, that much was true even to the observer who knew nothing of their history.

"The Iron Bull has noted this many times, not that he needed to point it out."

Maxwell also felt a twinge of discomfort at the notion that Bull had been observing him.

"I have upset my Ambassador and my Spymaster it seems." He said, taking off the very expensive coat he would wear to his very expensive wedding to someone whom as of late he felt guilt even when just thinking of her.

"I think you should...perhaps... be more concerned about upsetting your wife to be." Josephine said, then with a more gentle tone she looked to Maxwell and said something along the line of an apology.

"I will not presume to know what transpired between you and Dorian, Inquisitor. But it is obvious that you are...still wounded from it."

"There is nothing to be wounded about now. I will marry my fiancee and continue to offer my Spymaster' s aid to Tilani in the meantime. Other than that there is nothing else that I am able to do for him."

Maxwell had not told anyone that he had left Dorian while the man was unconscious in a safe house in Tevinter. He had not told anyone that he had...slept with him either. The guilt of it all was sometimes too hard to bear.

"Even if I ever do see him again..." Maxwell could not continue, "He has Bull. He'll be fine. He sought him when he first got here, remember?"

Josephine did not look convinced. Maxwell did not feel convinced either.

"If you are certain of the fortitude of your disposition, Inquisitor, then there is another matter I must discuss with you."

Maxwell, relieved that the subject was being changed, was more than happy to hear what Josephine had to say. Inquisition business was always good to get his mind off of his regrets.

"Of course."

"There is a matter from Tevinter, Inquisitor.The Archon extends his congratulations and his apology for not being able to attend personally. He will be sending an Ambassador of Tevinter in his stead."

"Maker's mercy. Since when are we on good terms with Tevinter?" Josephine handed him the Archon 's message.

"Since we defeated 'The great evil of the Blight'-according to the Archon. The fact that we have Orlais and the Divine on our side might have also have had something to do with it."

Maxwell read the letter over and over.

"Are we certain that this is from the Archon and not a ploy like the last time?" He asked.

"I had The Iron Bull verify it multiple times. It is legitimate, I'm afraid." Josephine awaited his reaction with so e trepidation.

"Who is this Ambassador?"

"I do not know, and neither does The Iron Bull. We must be ready for anything."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 after a long wait woooo!!!


	3. Dorian Pavus and the Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He really felt like doom was not far behind him-or ahead of him in this case. See, the Maker, or the Old Gods or the Great Holy Nug or whoever ruled the laws of probability really did have a sick sense of humour. All gods must be cruel, as all fates are and always will be for him.

Dorian did not want to really tell the others that he felt like he was going to die. To admit such a weakness would be well beneath the high  and prestigious post of the Ambassador of Tevinter to Theadas, especially the honored chosen of house Alexius and the heir apparent of house Pavus most eminent and noble. For the sake of being honest to one's self, however… Dorian felt so nervous that he thought the strain of it was turning his hair white. 

He really felt like doom was not far behind him-or ahead of him in this case. See, the Maker, or the Old Gods or the Great Holy Nug or whoever ruled the laws of probability really did have a sick sense of humour. All gods must be cruel, as all fates are and always will be for him.

“I see that the prospect of traveling back to Skyhold has disquieted you, Mage.”

Fenris’ voice cut right through the quiet of the library, Dorian almost fell off his seat and nearly hit himself in the face with the book he was reading.

“Kaffas Fenris - there are easier ways to kill a man than to scare him to death you know!”

Dorian could have sworn that the elf cracked a smile - he could not tell from the distance in the dim light.

The elf was leaning against the doorframe, large green eyes illuminated by the candlelight looking at Dorian as if Fenris almost felt sympathy for him. Almost.

“Did you expect that you would squat in Tilani’s library for the rest of your life?”

Dorian didn't consider himself to be a particularly violent man, but in that instance he really did feel like throwing a book at the elf’s head, even if it would mean instant death… which the more he thought of it now, the more appealing it seemed.

“And here I was,” he began grandly, gesturing at the rich velvet drapes and shining bronze bookshelves, “thinking that I could simply ignore the word of the Archon and spend my last few remaining days in a haze of literature and liquor. To live is truly to suffer.”

Dorian accentuated the last part of the sentence with a heavy sigh, and leaned heavily forward on the divan, just so he could annoy Fenris that little much more-Dorian was a simple man after all, with simple pleasures.

“Save your theatrics for the festivities, Pavus. I am certain that the other petty nobles will find them most entertaining.” Fenris turned and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

“I suggest you rest. The journey to Skyhold is a long one.”

Sighing heavily, Dorian leaned back on the divan. Perhaps if he slept in the library, his nightmares would be swallowed by the stories in the books.

He really did feel quite awful, he felt genuinely afraid. He felt thrilled and angry and somehow resigned. What would Maxwell say when he saw him again?

Of course there was the other thing… the thing that he could not stop thinking about.

Maxwell would be getting married. A grand and pompous affair now that the Inquisition had been declared by the Divine as her peacekeeping force.

Maxwell was not just a man anymore, he was basically a prince of Thedas, favoured by the King of Orlais as well as the Divine.

It did not help that Dorian dreamt of him every night. All he could see when he closed his eyes was Maxwell’s face. Sometimes he would be tangible, sometimes they would talk and love like before. Other times Maxwell would look at him with cold hard eyes that never blinked, and then he would contort and change until all Dorian could make out was a mass of black green light.

If it was a demon, the creature had not.made its move yet, or if it was a demon Maybe it was playing with his heartbreak… his grief.

Dorian was exhausted constantly, and the weight of the compulsion still burdened him. The more he thought of the years he spent away from the Inquisition, the less and less his own decisions made sense to him, and the less his memory served him.

It was worst when he remembers-or tries to remember, the months before he had gone to Skyhold.

How many decisions had actually been his, and how many had been due to the compulsion?

His thoughts eventually exhausted him to the point of sleep.

His dream began as usual. Dorian would find himself in Maxwell’s quarters in Skyhold, the sun gleaming in through the windows, the bed sheets soft and silken against his skin, and Maxwell lying beside him, perfectly still.

“Amatus?” Dorian called him that, knowing full well that it was a dream. That was the thing with dreams, the mind told a different story than the heart.

Maxwell turned to him, and Dorian flinched as he saw that Maxwell’s dark eyes were instead a slickly green, bright and fluid.

“You should not return to Skyhold.” the voice that spoke was not Maxwell’s voice, just as the eyes that looked at him were not Maxwell’s eyes.

“What will happen if I go, Amatus?”

Maxwell that was not Maxwell did not answer, but his face twisted into am ugly grimace. Lightning fast he was on top of Dorian, hands crushing at his throat.

Dorian could not move or speak or even scream, his struggles were futile.

“Do not go back to Skyhold.” the thing that was not Maxwell said, “do not go back.”

Dorian could feel himself fading away - just before his senses left him, he glimpsed a large shadow in the corner of the room.

He awoke with a startled choke into the now completely dark room. The air was chilled cold, but he was drenched in sweat.

It struck him again at that moment, that he might actually die, and it would happen a lot sooner if whatever creature was haunting him managed to get to him.

Dorian felt a sense of resolve forming underneath all the dread and fear. If he must die, than he will die in his own terms.

If the creature did not want him to go to Skyhold….than that is exactly where he would go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put this story on hiatus, but y'all really are persistent.


	4. Maxwell Trevelyan and His Foul Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would forget, at least for a while.

“What the  _ fuck _ do you mean by that?”

If Josephine had not grown accustomed to Maxwell, she would have called him crass and obtuse - he was neither, of course. He was simply… ememotive and passionate.

“I do not know how to be any clearer Inquisitor.” Josephine really did think that she might have stunned the Inquisitor into silence, the light from his quarters balconies casting a stark appearance on him, as he sat there aghast, looking to her and to the Iron Bull as if they had sprouted nug ears from their heads.

“I would have told you sooner Boss, my people are good, but not last second decisions good.”

Maxwell snapped out of his stupor much to Josephine's relief, only now the stunned silence was replaced with… well, anger. And swearing.

“How the fuck did you not know until a fucking week before my fucking wedding? Fuck me, Bull! And while we're at it, fuck the Archon too.”

Josephine steadied herself against the barrage of tavern language - she knew well that the Inquisitor was not a man that you would describe as demure in word and nature, but still, she truly did not expect him to throw himself into such a rage.

“It was a last minute change Inquisitor, and Bull’s sources indicate that it might not have been entirely a coincidence.”

A strange look came over Maxwell’s face.

“So it was not the Archon’s doing. It was not our doing either. Who then? Are they after him again, is that why they sent him here in plain sight?”

Bull and Josephine were silent. It could only mean that they too did not know. Too long had they been searching for that which was nameless and formless and intangible.

In the months after he had left Dorian in Tevinter, most of the Inquisition’s intelligence had been focused on tracking down Alis, as her threat to the Inquisition and to Dorian eclipsed almost all other concerns.

She had been inside Skyhold, she had seen and touched their Eluvian with her own eyes and hands. 

The mirror was watched and patrolled at all times of day and night, and now with the festivities of his wedding approaching, the security had doubled.

Nothing had stirred from the mirror so far. It remained sealed shut. He had even barred its use to Briala’s people.

No one had come and gone since he had returned from Pelagius’ cellar after… after everything.

“It could be Alis.” he told them.

“Or it could be whoever’s been pulling her strings.” Bull said, brows furrowed and eye deep in thought.

The three of them stood in a heavy silence, accompanied only the sound of the mountain wind pushing against the windows. It was a strange and hollow sound to Maxwell’s ears at that moment.

He had been growing increasingly weary of searching for answers and never finding any.

“We will go through with the wedding as planned. We will welcome Magisterial Ambassador Pavus as befits his station.” Maxwell said, speaking the words as he thought them, “I want an honour guard patrolling his quarters during his stay, and an armed escort too - he goes nowhere without protection.”

Adelina’s face flashed before his eyes. Such a beautiful and kind soul. She did not deserve to marry into such a mess and flurry - and not to such a mess and flurry of a man.

He had a deep affection for her. He just could not bring himself to call it  _ that _ word.

“As you command Inquisitor. I will inform commander Cullen and see it done.”

Josephine bowed, graceful and elegant and left his quarters, but Bull remained.

“So…what a fucking mess, right?”  

Maxwell snorted a laugh. Leave it to Bull to make things better and yet worse somehow.

“A huge fucking flaming mess of bullshit - pardon my Orlesian.”

Bull laughed too, loud and resonant. Maxwell thought he might leave now, but still he remained, and Maxwell knew exactly what was about to happen next.

“We need to address some of that bullshit, Boss. For the sake of catharsis. You gotta take out that frustration somehow -” 

Maxwell suppressed a groan at that, “and since you don't seem to want to fuck it out with your old lady, you're going to have to settle for talking it out with me.”

Maxwell steadied himself on his chair.

“Can't you just beat it out of me like I did to you after the fade?”

“No Boss, your porcelain features are too delicate. "

Along with the groan, Maxwell suppressed a sigh. For the love of all Thedas, it seemed that he would never find an instant of rest.

“Alright Bull,” he said, “ what would you have me get off my chest?”

Bull leaned forward on his chair across from Maxwell, making Maxwell’s desk seem even smaller than before.

“Let me take it from the top - Dorian shows up here after 5 years, confused as disgruntled off his ass, asking for asylum - which you give him,” Bull began, 

“and then before you can get your shit together and figure out what the hell is going on, some mystery thugs show up here looking to to fuck some shit up - then you leave with him through the demon mirror… and at some point, you two fall back into bed together-”

“Enough, Bull!”

Maxwell’s breath was coming in shallow bursts, just the memory of it made heated him.

“You left him there with Tilani, and you came back here to Addie.”

Maxwell could not muster enough force for actual anger. Bull was right, of course. He had run away from there as fast as his legs and the crossroads would take him, along with Saar, back to Skyhold.

He had felt sick and relieved at the same time, and his heart had broken again. Not only had he been unfaithful to Adelina, but he had been false toward Dorian too.

What kind of protection could he offer him from such a distance away?

“No matter what I may feel, I am bound by my duty. You of all people should understand this.”

“Aren't you the one who told me to fuck the system and to go with my gut?”

Bull of course, was right again. But Maxwell felt that it was too late now. Only time would heal his wounds, if only his wound stopped getting reopened whenever he saw Dorian.

“Bull,” Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose, his head beginning to pound, “I made a promise, and now I stick with it till the very end.”

Bull stood up - not defeated, but weary not to push Maxwell too far.

“Take this from a former Qunari spy Boss - the truth always comes out in the end.”

Bull left Maxwell alone with his thoughts - and his thoughts plagued him.

It must have been hours, because Adelina had come to look for him.

“My love,” she said, as she sat on his lap and ran her hands through his hair, “you worry too much and you rest too little.”

She leaned in and kissed him, it made him warm, and he longed for his thoughts to be silenced.

“You have not had dinner.”

He stood, with the woman in his arms. Adelina had a heft to her that reassured him.

“Food is not what I hunger for, my songbird.”

He carried her to the bed, where he looked for respite in her arms.

He would forget, at least for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm LordWoolsley... and I'm a thirsty comment whore. 
> 
> Hope you like - tell me what you think!


	5. Dorian Pavus and Fenris:Surviving Journeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian suddenly felt himself being pulled away from the dream. He fought it, he wanted answers, but it was futile.

“You did not sleep last night.” the elf said, his tone sounding unimpressed.

“An accurate and astute observation, Fenris. Have you ever considered joining the Seekers?” Dorian replied dryly.

“The Seekers are a human organization Pavus. Your lack of rest must have addled what remains of memory which wine has not taken.”

Dorian snorted - a most undignified sound, a most un-Dorian like sound, but well, times may me changing and so would he - and besides, if confronted he'd deny it.

“You're the one to talk Fenris. I believe there's a certain expression, about a pot and a kettle that may fit here.”

Dorian cracked the carriage curtains slightly open to look out to the road. He would have three more days to survive with Fenris in the cramped quarters. Doable. By the skin of one's teeth but doable.

The elf finally replied after a heavy silence.

“We are remarkably nothing alike.”

“Indeed we are not. I would not be seen dead with that porcupine armor on.”

Dorian attempted a jest. Surely Fenris was not looking to disturb the already uneasy peace between the two of them - and without Tilani to mediate either.

“Do not jest about this Pavus. We are nothing alike. I was never a magister slaver - amongst your other deeds.”

Dorian was instantly angered. It was an old argument that he would usually attempt to avoid - but given his recent trials, a brawl with a Lyrium elf in a cramped carriage with his ambassadorial entourage right outside listening in did not seem like something entirely far fetched.

“You must be confusing me with my father, Fenris. Hurtful, yes, but not an uncommon mistake to make.”

Dorian felt the Lyrium on Fenris’ skin begin to rise. He fought his every instinct to grab his staff.

“Do not try to absolve yourself Pavus, even if you did not personally partake, you still benefitted.”

Fenris clenched at the seat, now emitting a a faint glow.

“We are fighting for the same cause. We are on the same side.”

Dorian regretted the words as soon as he said them.

“You chose to struggle. I and so many others were denied that Luxury.”

They were both silent, letting the words hand in the air, heavy and burdened with all things that they would not dare say.

“I am not an unselfish man, but this is something that I truly believe. It matters not that you hear it from me, but I believe that slavery… I believe that slavery is a sin.”

He did not tell Fenris that that was not a viewpoint that he had not always held. It had taken him time and he had had to witness it for himself before he was sure, and for that he would always be ashamed. 

"Alis - when she was still Alis. I'm not sure if that's her true name,” Dorian continued, with Fenris’ gaze heavy on him, “ she used to berate me all the time, she used to tell me, and I am quoting here, a ‘ _ self- righteous poor little rich boy, with a savior complex _ ’. A complex perspective coming from her. This really should have clued me in.”  

Fenris finally averted his gaze. 

“She was right.”

Oh the savagery! If he weren't beyond a stable state as it were, Dorian would have been wounded.

“If I ever was that, I am not anymore. Not after everything.”

Fenris adjusted the red cloth around his arm.

“We shall see.”

The silence this time, persisted. It was not very long before the sun began to set and the entourage halted for the night.

Dorian went wanted to take first watch, but all it took was one look from Fenris for his to decide not to argue.

He left the elf seated at the campfire, while he did his best to fall asleep. He tried to focus on the sounds outside, the horses, the guards talking amongst themselves - anything to prevent him from losing himself in his own thoughts.

He was both thrilled and terrified at the thought of sleep. On the one hand, he would potentially be able to gauge more information from the Maxwell that wasn't Maxwell spirit, or demon or whatever it was.

On the other hand, there was also the pressing possibility of death, or even worse, the possibility of possession.

Not that the waking word held many comforts either. At the very least he could always count on Fenris to rip out his throat or some such other violent effect, in the off chance of possession.

It was a lonely thing, to hold such a thing from everyone - but after the compulsion, he did not want more people to question his sanity.

He drifted off to sleep, too tired from the road to prevent slumber from coming any longer, and like many times before, he found himself at Skyhold, his library this time.

He began to look through his books, and for a dream, the details of them was quite astounding, from the words to their heft, to the velvety feel of the pages. He would have been completely sold, had it not been for the fact that the place was empty, completely.

There was no sound of Leliana’s birds, no sound from Enchanter Fiona shuffling about, no Helisma at her research table.

The place felt very much like a tomb, it was only the feeling of unease at the back of his neck that told him that Maxwell that was not Maxwell had returned. 

“Amatus,” Dorian said, “have you come to see me again?”

The spirit, or demon, had come with eyes of that sickly fade green immediately. It was no longer trying to fool him into thinking that the dream was a reality.

“You are warned,” it said, its voice like a distant rasp of what Maxwell’s voice was, “yet you do not listen.”

“Ah yes, you mean my imminent death. I was never one to listen to what others told me to do.”

Dorian held the book in his hands and examined it while he spoke to it. It would serve him better if he did not look at it directly.

“It was a warning of mercy, yet you only prolong your pain.” 

Maxwell that was not Maxwell did not move at all, Dorian noticed, not even to blink or to pretend to breathe.

“Tell me your name.” Dorian commanded it.

“You already know my name.”

Dorian placed the book down gently back on the shelf and reached for another one.

“You are not Maxwell.” It was an obvious observation, but with the nature of spirits and demons, sometimes the obvious was not so.

“No. I was not born with Maxwell. I was born with the one they called Herald of Andraste.”

This gave Dorian some pause. At last the spirit offered some information.

“Are you the one who bound me with the compulsion?”

The light emanating from the thing’s eyes gave a glimmer.

“There are old powers at work, old powers that wanted you away from the one they call the Herald of Andraste.”

Dorian felt a surge of fear flow through him, which he was certain that the spirit could feel too.

“The powers wanted to take your heart from you, and the one whom they call the Herald of Andraste from him.”

Dorian’s mind spun with all the possibilities.

“Who would want this, and to what end?”

Maxwell that was not Maxwell began to glimmer in and out of form, like a candle flame in a breeze.

“Strong together, weak apart,” it said, its voice sounding distant more than before, “The plan unfurled. The plan failed because of the traitor.”

The more the spirit talked, the more the surroundings began to crumble lose their tangibility - the ground sloped, furniture floated from it, weightless. Dorian fell flat to the sloped floor, hanging to the bookshelves so that he would not slip away.

“Answer me, who is it? Why? Why!”

“That which was taken must be returned to the owner. The powers care not for those who are lost in the way.”

The spirit was almost completely transparent now, the dream continued to fray - even the light was refracted, all unnatural angles seeped in green. Dorian tried to hold on to something - anything, but he was hopelessly floating away.

“No! You must answer me, I command it spirit!”

The spirit’s glowing green eyes were the only thing visible to him now.

“They will consume the one they call Herald of Andraste first, and then everything else.”

Dorian suddenly felt himself being pulled away from the dream. He fought it, he wanted answers, but it was futile.

Dorian awoke to a glowing blue elf holding him down to his bedroll.

“Awake Pavus, I do not wish to see to your end!”

Dorian could barely speak.

“Danger,” he babbled, unaware of himself, “Powers and hunger -”

Overcome with exhaustion and his emotions, Dorian fell into a deep black sleep, far from dreams. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your feedback keeps my creative juices flowing. The chapters just keep coming to me idk.   
> Let me know what you think!


	6. Maxwell Trevelyan, what a terrible mess.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's too late to change things now, Sera.

Maxwell found himself planted face first into the floor, and for the life of him he felt not like he could muster the will to stand up. 

He managed to look up to the sounds of, “Maker's breath, Inquisitor,” and, “Why are you on the floor?”.

Cassandra and Cullen did their best to lift him off the floor, but they too had fallen to Sera’s  _ hilarious _ prank. 

She had managed to cover the entire floor with the scented oils, which Maxwell assumed she had taken from the recent shipment from Orlais. They were meant as gifts for the guests, but now they were a gift for the floor. 

Two of the Inquisition’s chief commandants, and the Inquisitor himself, bested by soap. In the main hall. In front of the arriving dignitaries. 

“This,” he managed to say as attempted to clamber up to a standing position - or a kneeling one at the very least, “is somehow worse than the fade. And the demons.”  

A hand reaches out to him, and he grabbed it, thankful for the assistance and assuming that it was one of the Inquisition's guards. It was only when he noticed that the hand was gloved in black leather and jewelled in green and silver that he realized. 

“You think that was bad, imagine being the one on the other end  _ waiting _ .”

Maxwell looked up, to see Dorian’s amused face...and the man was  _ resplendent _ . Mercy of the Maker the man looked like an Orlesian painting. 

Maxwell, on the other hand looked like a drenched Nug, that had fallen into a wealthy old woman's bath tub. 

“Maker almighty.” Maxwell said, breathless. 

“Please my dear Inquisitor, you may call me Dorian.”

It suddenly struck Maxwell that Dorian was not just Dorian, but the Magisterial Ambassador of Tevinter. A stark change from when he had come a political outcast. There would be much to be discussed. 

And, also the fact that Dorian was here for his wedding. With Adelina, who was presently helping Cassandra off the floor, so very gracefully not slipping and falling about like a headless chicken…  that headless chicken being Cullen. 

The people in the hall had all stopped to stare at the whole thing. Maxwell had yet to grow accustomed to having so many eyes on him, not even now that he had been Inquisitor so long. 

There was an essence of tension. Their history was not unknown among the people of the Inquisition, and even beyond. 

Maxwell stood up on unsteady legs, although he did his best to hide it. 

“I welcome you to Skyhold Ambassador Pavus, we are glad to have you for the upcoming festivities.” 

Maxwell thought he saw a shadow of some concealed emotion pass over Dorian’s face. 

With his words, the tension lifted off the hall, and the activity bustled as before. 

Maxwell waited until the honor guard escorted Dorian to his quarters, before he turned and marched toward his. It would not do to be seen slathered in oil in front of well, everyone. 

Maxwell very nearly blasted a firebolt toward Sera, when she chucked an unspeared arrow at his head - even though he knew he'd find her there. 

“Sera dammit all!” 

The mark on his hand crackled uncomfortably, the fright had gotten to him, when it weighed along with the other stresses in his life. 

“You, are making a big bloody mess, I know that, you know that.” 

She clambered up onto his bed from where she had been hiding underneath it. How she managed to chuck an arrow at his head, he did not know.

“You’re going to have to be more specific Sera. I make  _ many _ mistakes.”

Je began to try and unlatch the ridiculous thing that Josephine had made him put on. His desire to put on his Knight Enchanter armour was deep and burning, but Josephine had insisted on such ridiculous notions such as  _ friendliness _ and  _ approachability _ . 

Inquisitor Trevelyan was a hot mess of a man and everyone knew it. Covering it up with fancy attire wouldn't change things. 

Frustrated, he grabbed his letter opener from his desk and ripped the latches open. 

“Oi I don't need to see that!” Sera chucked another arrow at him, he caught this one before it hit him this time. 

“You clearly need to get out of my room.” he said, looking through his dresser for something that Josephine and Cassandra would consider appropriate. 

“And you clearly need to listen to me loghead!” 

Sera’s tone sounded serious - for her, at least. 

“There aren't  _ things _ between you and birdy lady, not like there are  _ Dorian _ things.” 

Maxwell did actually pause. It was this thing again. He knew well and good that try as he might the Dorian thing would not leave. He hid it, he fought against it. 

He hated it and at the same time he loved Adelina in his way, but it was fundamentally different to what he felt for Dorian. 

There was a whole ocean of pain there, and anger, and pain, and unending cycle of them. The man had left him in the middle of the night for the love of - and as soon as he saw Dorian again he had forgiven him, just like that! 

Sweet and addicting as sugar. His father had told him that once, in one of their brief meetings back when he was in the circle. 

‘ _ Maxi, love is like a fine dessert wine, sugary sweet, have enough of it, and you'll become addicted _ .’

His impressionable ten year old mind had been overwhelmed by the very notion - of needing someone so badly that without them you feel like you might die. 

‘ _ Is that why you call mama sugar _ ?’ he had asked, his mind very much pressed under the weight of such revelations. 

‘ _ Well yes, among other reasons _ .’ his father had smiled knowingly at the time. 

“Sometimes in life,” he said, while elbows deep in his dresser, “you just have to swallow the shit life throws at you and live with it.” 

“Yeah but not you, not after everything!” 

It was a difficult thing, dealing with Sera’s displeasure. It couldn't be quelled by any ordinary means. 

“If I let you throw another arrow at my head, will you stop giving me relationship advice?” 

Sera did  it look very tempted by the offer. 

“Dorian doesn't deserve this. You don't deserve this,” she said, uncharacteristically serious, “ and neither does Adelina.”

Maxwell settled on something dark and dour to wear. It suited his mood. 

“It's too late to change things now Sera.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're seeing more of Inky here. He ain't happy. Sera ain't happy. NOBODY BE HAPPY. 
> 
> Kudos and comment my good readers!


End file.
